Ferelith
by swans-a-melting
Summary: Sapphy discovers a old, damp, wooden box in her attic. It contains the diary of her Great-Aunt Ferelith, who died when she was just seventeen. Through the diary Sapphy discovers something that could change her knowledge of someone she knows a great deal.
1. Chapter 1

"_Come down, Sapphy!" I hear mum call. "If you haven't found it by now, you're not going to!" I sweep my eyes one last time around the attic, giving up on ever finding it, when my eyes fall upon a nondescript wooden box in a corner. My curiosity rises in me, leaving a strange, trickly feeling on my back, like water when you are just stepping out of a warm shower. "Um…just a minute!" I yell back._

_I step over a few dusty, musty boxes and crouch down onto the floor next to it, impatiently brushing a few stray cobwebs out of my eyes and hair._

_The box is old, and the wood is warped and cracked, as if it once fell into Ingo. It has some indistinct words carved clumsily into the lid that I canno__t make out in the darkness of the attic. F…an F and an E, and…that __**might**__ be an R…but the rest I can't make out. I grab my torch (no electric lights in our attic!) and focus it shakily on the lid. _

_Yes, I was right, an F, an E, an R, another E, an L, I think…and an I, a T…and an H. Ferelith. Ferelith…where have I heard that word before? It is a name, I think…but who do I know called Ferelith? No one. I scan my eyes around the attic, searching for clues, when I spy an old black and white photo of a young woman with long black hair like mine. Oh yes! I remember now! I can remember; when I was ten, dad unearthing this photo, and saying to me, "You know who this is, Sapphy? It's my auntie; your Great Aunt Ferelith." And then he added, as an afterthought; "I never met her though. She died when she was very young. Only seventeen."_

_My Great Aunt Ferelith. Did this box belong to her? I try to open it, but the lock has rusted and jammed. The damp wood gives me no help either. I hope that whatever is in it is not damaged…I try to force the lock open, but my pinkie finger gets caught on a sharp edge, and a jagged cut appears down one side, sputtering blood everywhere. Darn. _

_I grab the nearest piece of fabric I can find, (a scrap of white lace). (Hmm. Hope that was no one's wedding dress!), and absentmindedly I wipe all the residual blood onto it. _

_Ugh. I'm about to abandon the box altogether when I notice a toolbox, right over in another corner, so I go open that to see if there is anything in there that I could use. I notice a small screw driver, and I lift it out. I take it over to my wooden box, hoping that it will work like I want it to._

_I insert the screwdriver the lock and work it around. It jams, and takes a long time to release it again. But I don't give up. I fit it to the bloated lock again and continue to try and force it open. _

_I don't know how long I spend, trying to get into the box. I don't know how many times mum calls me, and how many times I reply I am busy. In the end, she just gives up. _

_I don't know why I don't give up working away at Ferelith's box, trying to open it. There is something about that box that has attracted my curiosity now, something that pulls me towards it; like the box…like it wants to be opened. This is stupid of course. Boxes don't want to be opened, they have no feelings! Well, apart from Pandora's box. And this isn't Pandora's box. It's Ferelith's._

_Finally, at long last, when I've got pins and needles in both legs and my back aches and my fingers are scratched and stiff, the box opens. It is tin lined, so the papers inside it have not been damaged. I lift them out with slightly shaking fingers. There's a thin, cloth-bound notebook, a sheaf of papers tied up with a black ribbon and a couple of black and white photos. _

_I focus on the photos first. The first photo is a picture of the girl with black hair: Ferelith. She is small and curvy, and is wearing a simple blouse and a rough looking pair of trousers. I flip the photo over. It says _"me, July 1930".

_I am surprised at this. She is wearing trousers and it is only 1930. I thought women weren't allowed to wear trousers then. Maybe she was a rebel. My mouth twitches up into a smile. I like that idea. _

_I squint closer at the picture, and notice that her hair is wet and her eyes are dreamy and faraway. _

_I abandon the rest of the photos and lift up the note book, flipping open the cover onto the first page. _

You cannot take Air into Ingo.

_I gasp. Ingo! _

_My mind abandons all other thought. I have to read on._


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday 15th July 1930

This is going to sound crazy.

This is going to sound ridiculous and insane and you probably won't believe me when I tell you.

Like I said, you won't believe me, so you'll want to try and cart me off to the Loony Bin, like they tried with poor Sad Sal from up the village.

But it is the truth.

I have found a…kingdom.

Under the sea. Ingo.

A place where the folks have tails and everything glows silver, blue-green and gold.

Ingo, where you forget to breathe, but that is inconsequential, because if you do breathe, that is when the trouble starts.

Because you cannot take Air into Ingo.

And I met someone there.

A boy. A Mer boy.

His name is Aeron, and he is my friend.

He's my age. Sixteen.

He has the tail of a seal, like all of the folk in Ingo. His hair is dark and tangled, and of course it is constantly wet. He lives under the sea. Impossible to dry it down there!

When I saw him…I thought I was imagining things.

A boy with a tail?

Come on.

Such nonsense.

He had seen me too, and he was looking at me as if to say,

"A girl with legs?

Come on.

Such nonsense."

And he looked at me, and I looked at him, and it was as if we were silently daring each other to speak first.

I heard my voice speak, high and whiny and irritating.

"Excuse me – but, do you have a tail?"

Gosh, how stupid that must have sounded to him!

However, if he thought it amusing or stupid, he did not elaborate any further, he simply raised a dark eyebrow, and said simply and coolly, "yes".

And then he dived back down into the sea.

"Wait!" I cried quickly. "Come back!"

I glanced around me, and when I saw that there was nobody else present, I hitched up my skirt and I ran over the slimy, slippy rocks until I reached the place where he had dived.

I could just see his dark shape under the water, like the shape of some gigantic fish.

Well, I wanted nothing more to speak to the boy with the tail, so guess what?

I jumped in too.

Once I was in the water, I opened my eyes, and I could see him, lazily floating there, with his eyes half closed, yet watching me, like he was trying to sum me up, this girl with legs, floating beside him.

He took my breath away.

"Who are you?" I tried to ask, and suddenly salt water rushed into my mouth, trickling down my throat, and into my eyes and up my nose, so I tried to breathe but I couldn't, and my lungs felt constricted and my throat was tight, and I most certainly could not swim.

I began to sink like a stone.

But the worst bit was the pain.

The pain stabbing through me like a blunt knife.

Where was my sea boy?

I stretched my arms out as wide as they would go, blindly groping for his arms, his waist, anything that I could grab onto, when I felt strong, clammy hands around my waist, and I found myself on the surface of the water, and then with one almighty heave, I found myself lying on a warm rock, coughing and shivering, with cold, sticky tears running down my cheek.

The boy with the tail then heaved himself onto the rock, and I could see the muscles contracting and flexing under the smooth, grey skin of the tail.

He looked at me. "My name is Aeron," he said. "And you are?"

I struggled to quickly sit up – too quickly. A wave of dizziness nearly knocked me over again.

"Ferelith," I managed to stammer out. "And, erm, thank you."

Aeron looked at me. "What for?" he asked me.

I blushed crimson.

"You saved my life," I mumbled, praying to God that he couldn't see my face.

He seemed equally embarrassed. "It was nothing," he sighs. "I would have done the same for anyone. I thought everyone knew you couldn't take air into Ingo."

He shot me a sideways glance.

"Well, everyone in Ingo knows that."

"If you don't mind my asking, but, what is Ingo?" I asked him.

He looked at me, scandalised. "Ferelith!" He crowed triumphantly. "You don't expect to know what Ingo is do you? You're not going to know what it is! You're only a mortal!"

He said it like it's an insult.

Well, I certainly wasn't going to let some idiotic, pompous boy with a tail insult me!

"So, if don't know what Ingo is, Aeron," is grinned, "Then show me."

Aeron smiled, extending his hand.

I clasped his fingers, a thrill travelling through my - oh! Jem is calling me! I shall have to continue this entry in my new diary tomorrow, my tale of what happened to me in Ingo.

Farewell for now.


	3. Chapter 3

**I am so sorry I have not updated this story for quite a while!**

Sunday 16th July 1930

I'm so sorry that I had to cut you off abruptly yesterday like that, but my brother Jem was calling me.

He wanted to make me make him a sandwich for his lunch.

Well, excuse me, but why should I have to make him a sandwich? He should make it himself. I told him so, and said it was because I was a girl, and so good at that sort of thing.

Well. I hate Jem sometimes. He's eighteen, and thinks that he can do anything and be anything, no problem. He can't.

But anyway, back to my Ingo…

Jem took my hand, and a thrill raced through my spine. He had told me not to breath, to forget Air, to just let myself be fully immersed into Ingo.

So when I dived, I did. I forgot Jem. I forgot Henry, and Father. I forgot Shep, my bulldog, (his name is an old joke, can't be bothered to explain now, not when I'm meant to be writing in this diary about Ingo!)

I even forgot Mum. It was hard, the hardest of all, but I managed it.

And so, I truly was in Ingo.

I grinned at Aeron in pure delight.

"Magnificent!" I squealed loudly, my heart brimming over with pure delight.

I could not believe that I was there, in Ingo.

It is different to when you are just swimming in the sea, like I normally do. Ingo is darker, but lighter. There are a thousand colours under there; ultramarine, cyan, mauves, brooding purples, dark and swirling navy.

I could sit here, listing forever, and still not tell you the entire colours of Ingo.

I sculled along beside Aeron, simply tasting the quenching, fortifying salt water, that I always thought disgusting, but now I realise it is delicious, and I never want to taste sweet water again, unless I can help it.

I did still have a pain in my chest, but it was pleasant, not awful, and I enjoyed it. Aeron took my hand, and said something to me, but I could not hear what it was that he said, so I just grinned and carried on swimming with him.

We reached a current, and he shouted across to me, "Ferelith! Let us surf the currents!"

He pulled me towards the wild, chasing current, and we were right in the centre it. And we surfed. We surfed in the current. WE SURFED IN A CURRENT!

Oh I cannot believe it! Ingo, current surfing, beautiful boys with beautiful tails…I'm ecstatic, I love it, I'm so happy; the sea pulls me and pulls me…

Wait. Did I just call Aeron beautiful?

Yes I did.

Oh golly gosh!

I suppose that he is quite good looking, in a fishy, Mer-boy sort of way.

Strong, muscled tail. That'll be from all that swimming he has to do. Greenish greyish skin. Not what I could ever consider as the most beautiful colour, but I suppose it is thanks to the light down there. And the light truly is beautiful, so I won't complain. His hair is…hair. I don't know. Dark, wet and tangled, like I told you yesterday. Boy hair. How do boys do their hair? I never have really taken note of this sort of thing on boys or men before, so there is nothing that I can really compare him to.

I never have been one to swoon over the opposite sex. I leave that job to Alice Trewhidden. She _certainly _is fond of boys!

I prefer Aeron's personality to his looks anyway.

After we had left the current (I took a little persuading to leave), we went to calmer waters, and we talked.

We fooled around, laughing and joking as we spoke.

"So, Ferelith, my dear," Aeron began, doffing an imaginary hat to me. "What do you do in the Air all day?"

I laughed, shooting him a sideways look. "How do you know that men doff their hats to ladies?" I asked him.

"I know many things, Ferelith," he said, with an air of superiority. "Oh yes. I know many things about Air. Hats. Oh yes. I know many things about hats!"

I snorted. Hats, indeed!

"But you haven't answered my question, Ferelith," Aeron said. "So tell me, what do you do in Air all day?"

"Things," I snapped. "And you don't have to say my name all the time! Are you afraid you'll forget it, the instant you stop saying it?"

Aeron furrowed his brow, confused. "No, I won't forget it, but why? Do you not like your name?" he asked. "What is its meaning? And it is such a pretty name!"

That stumped me, actually.

"I'm not sure," I said. "I just know that it's Gaelic. But I'm not Gaelic, and neither are my parents! I'm Cornish, like everyone else around here! My parents liked Gaelic names. I used to have two older sisters, and their names were Aisling and Caoilfhinn."

Aeron brayed with laughter, bubbles streaming from his nose. "Cao-what?" he spluttered noisily. "How'd you pronounce that?"

I smile. "It's like this: Kay-lin. Although you wouldn't think that from the way it is spelt. And Aisling is like Ash-ling. Although my two brothers are called Jem and henry, which are both really old fashioned English names."

Aeron smiled, but then his smile slid off his face quickly, like gloopy mud. "Wait," he said. "Did you say that you _used_ to have two sisters?"

I bit my lip. "Yes," I sighed. "Both of them died very young."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Well. You don't have to be. I can't really remember them. I think Aisling had blacky-brown hair like me. But that's it."

Aeron craned his neck around to look at the hair streaming out behind me. "Your hair isn't blacky-brown," he said, his tone confused. "It's reddish brown!"

"I think I know what colour my own hair is!" I laughed.

I twisted my neck around to look all the same. My hair was reddish brown.

I gasped so widely I swallowed a whole load of water, and I had to spit it out again, coughing.

"I'm sure that it's just the light," I said slowly. "Maybe if we swim to the surface, it will just be as dark as ever.

So Aeron and I swam up, and I heaved my body onto the rocks. It was surprisingly cold, and I shivered, pulling my soaked blouse tighter around my shoulders. I also noticed that it was twilight.

Twilight. _How did that happen? _I thought to myself. _It was the morning when I went into Ingo!_

All thoughts of my hair and its colour abandoned my mind, and I panicked. "I have to get home!" I cried. "My family will be wondering where I am!"

Aeron nodded. "Of course," he said softly. "But you must promise to come back soon. You will, won't you, Ferelith?"

"I will."

Aeron grabbed my hand, and just before he slipped back into the sea, he kissed my cold fingers.

"Just like Air," he smirked, and then with a flip of his tail and a sparkle on the water in the pale moonlight, he was gone.

I sighed, and ran over the rocks, and up the cliff face that leads down to this cove. I dashed across the path, nearly falling flat on my face as I tripped on a stump of gorse.

Cursing, I opened the door and walked into the tumbledown old cottage which is my father's meagre excuse of a house.

It was Henry who first saw me. "Ferelith!" he whispered. "What happened? Dad's ready to kill you!" I rolled my eyes. "You do not want to know."

Henry told me that father was in the kitchen, so in I went. Father was sitting at the table. He was dirt and dishevelled, and I could smell the liquor from where I stood.

"Ferelith Trewhella," he said slowly, his bloodshot eyes widening and nostrils flailing. "Where in god's name have you been?"

"Um," said I. "Um. Well. Out."

"All day?" he snapped waspishly. "You've been out since ten this morning! And it's nine o'clock now!"

Rage bubbled in me, hot and sour. "So what?" I screamed. "So what? Why should I come home so soon? You've been awful since mum died! Awful! That's what!"

And then I ran up the stairs, and threw myself onto my bed, my body racking with dry sobs. I am hurt, and confused, and angry! I had only been in Ingo about an hour, and I can't understand what happened! I hate father, and I so miss mother! And I am in love with Ingo! 


	4. Chapter 4

_A hand taps my shoulder curtly. I gasp, jumping a mile high. Mum. "What are you still doing up here young lady?" she admonishes. "I've been calling you for hours, and you've missed your tea. It's that late, Conor's already ensconced in his bed! Come down this instant! And wipe that smirk off your face right now!"_

"_Sorry mum." _

_I was laughing at the "ensconced in his bed" part. _

"_Hmph!" she snorts angrily, quickly stepping down the ladder. Scooping Ferelith's papers and pictures back into the box, I gather everything into my arms and follow her down. _

"_I am really sorry, mum," I sigh softly, cool breath drifting out through my slightly parted lips. "I just… lost track of the time."_

_Mum purses her own lips at me, then hands me a digestive biscuit on a willow patterned plate and some Ribena in an old blue plastic tumbler I've had since forever . "Well," she says, as I step into my room. "Goodnight, Sapphire."_

"_G'night, mum." I close the door, flicking on the light switch, and setting down Ferelith's box (thank goodness mum didn't notice it!) on the top of my old wooden dresser. I hear Conor moan in his sleep, somewhere above me._

_Stifling a giggle, I kick off my ratty old trainers, black jeans and flower tee shirt, sliding into bed still in my underwear. My long dark hair hangs in front of my eyes like thick curtains. Brushing it impatiently away, I settle back on my pillow, my chin resting gently on the back of my hand._

_Ferelith…I can't get her out of my head. Someone else in my family that knows about Ingo in this family besides me, and Conor and dad! If only she wasn't dead! I would love to speak with her, to ask her what happened to her and Aeron, to find out whether she actually died, or simply…went to Ingo? _

_Well, I know one sure fire way of finding out. I heave the box off my dresser, open the cloth bound book and begin to read._

-X-

Monday 17th July 1930

When I woke up this morning, it was such a beautiful day; I just knew I had to be a part of it. The sun streamed through the thin pinkish beige curtains that block out my (rather grimy) window. It might have only been very early in the morning still, but I knew that it was going to be a simply beautiful day.

Holding my nightgown hem up from the floor, I slid from beneath my blankets and tiptoed down the stairs. My head was pounding with a blinding headache. I suppose that's thanks to last night's crying fit.

Really, I don't know what came over me. Don't go thinking I spend my time shrieking at my father in such a way, dear diary, because honestly, I don't. I normally wouldn't dare tell father I hated him, or tell him to shut up.

I don't hate him anyway, at least, not really, it's just he's been drinking so much since mother died, and it makes him rather hard to live with.

Anyway – what was I saying? Oh yes. I was going downstairs. So, when I reached the foot of the stairs, I moved into the kitchen, silently looking at the time on our old mahogany grandfather clock. Five thirty.

That meant that Jem and Henry would have already gone to work (they're both fishermen, and have to be out early to cast the nets), but I wasn't due at work for another two hours. I'm a herring girl, and my job is to remove the guts of the fish that my brother's and all the other men from round here (apart from father and the pub landlord and the butcher) have caught. It is the most tedious, smelly and disgusting job a person could ever do, I am certain of it.

I turned and ran back up the staircase, and straight into my brother's room. I opened the cupboard beside Jem's bed, and began to rifle through the many pairs of roughly hewn grey flannel trousers and linen, sweat stained shirts until I found what it was I was looking for.

A pair of brown trousers Jem grew out of three or four years ago. They finally fit my not very slight frame.

Removing them from the cupboard, I returned to my own room, quickly stepping out of my nightgown and into clean underwear, Jem's old trousers and an old, creamy yellow coloured blouse that used to belong to mother. I added thick socks and my own boots.

Back down the stairs I flew, pausing only to snatch an apple from the crate on the sideboard, before bolting out the door and running outside.

Outside, at last!

Such an early hour meant that I could go and see my bees. They live in their hives up on the moor side, and it is my job to look after them. They used to be mother's duty, but after she died, they became my job. It took a lot of persuading dad to let me keep them I can assure you, but I finally managed to win him round after informing him how much money we could potentially make by selling the honey.

I ate my apple as I walked, enjoying the feeling of the sun beating down upon my uncovered head. I could smell the salt of the sea, the smell of Ingo, but stronger was the smell of the Earth; the soil, the honeysuckle, the heather. I truly am blessed to live in such a beautiful place.

By the time I finally reach the place where my bee's hives rest, I suddenly realised with a jolt of annoyance that I had left the gloves and hat I usually wear whilst tending to the bees back at the cottage.

I glanced up at the sun uneasily, wondering if I had time to dash back to the cottage and grab my things. I eventually decided to make a dash for it, if I ran.

And so I ran, all the way back to the cottage, my feet pounding and slamming on the ground. I stumbled at one point, and nearly fell, but quickly righted myself and continued on my way. When I reached our cottage, I snuck into the shed behind our house, next to the privy, where I gathered up my large, veil like hat, and big, padded gardening gloves. Then I ran all the way back.

But suddenly, I couldn't sum myself up to tend to my bees. It seemed such a mundane task, when the heather was so sweet smelling, and the delicious whiffs of honey rising from the hives was caught on the sea salt breeze. I threw myself down, face, into the grass, inhaling the delectable aromas that flowed through my nostrils.

And that was when I heard it. The voice. _Ffffff-er-__elittthhhh it_ called. _Ffffff-er-elittthhhhh. _I jolted up into a sitting position like an electric current had raced through my body. It called again, _Ferelitttthhh, Fffferelith, _calling my name over and over.

It made my hackles prickle up and my mind race with fear. I suddenly found cold tears trickling down my cheeks. It hypnotised it, it was beautiful; I just _had_ to answer it…

I rose unsteadily to my feet, beginning to run in the direction of where it was coming from, but where that was I could not tell, and my ankle turned and I fell to the ground, and all the while the voice echoed through my numb mind, that enticing, seductive voice, hissing my name.

I tried to stand up once more, but I could not, and then suddenly there was a sudden lull of calm, and a blast of air, and I heard a voice again.

But it was a different voice. It was harsher, louder, cruder… and somehow, even more magnetising than the first one. _FERELITH! _It roared. _FERELITH! Ferelith, Ferelith, Ferelith, _over and over and over, but this time I did not panic, this time I did not fear, I simply sat there, letting it wash over me, knowing that one day I would follow it.

But not now.

And so I just sat there, my eyes closed, bathed in sunlight, until the first voice returned, and I listened to them, roaring, battling, each one desperate to be heard, each one trying, coaxing to get me to follow it.

But I just ignored it. I just sat there and smiled.

At last, at last, the voices stopped. I stood up, and I was calm. I was not scared. I know not whether the voices were limited only in my head, or if others on this hillside could have heard it. I maybe should have worried, but I didn't. I was the epitome of stillness and calm.

Then I walked slowly back down the hill, and into the cottage to get ready for work.

Getting ready for work. How simple and dull it seemed, after my encounter on the hillside! How could I go and spend my days pulling the guts from the bodies of silver fish, when I have done what I have just done? How can I disembowel any creature of Ingo, simply to bring money into my village and home?

But I had to of course, so I changed into a plain grey dress, braiding my hair over the crown of my head, and an old white cloth cap on top of that. All the while my fingers were shaking, and I stabbed my scalp more than once with a hair pin.

And my legs wobbled as I walked out of the front door, and down the path, on by the harbour and straight to the port. It was seven thirty in the morning.

By the time I reached the baskets and the other Herring Girls, the sun was beating down on my back, and it shone into my eyes so I had to screw them up. My friend Emma had arrived and begun her work before, and already I could see the sweat patches blooming like spring flowers from her armpits, already the stench of fish was almost overwhelming, already the blood of the Herrings covered her stumpy fingers.

I knew it was going to be a long day.


End file.
